


Wolf, Rabbit and Fox

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: A/B/O, Animagus, Animal Characteristics, Eldritchhorror!Credence, Forced Breeding, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Tentacles, Well - Freeform, bunboy!Credence, dubcon, not bestiality though, obscurus tentacles, some serious biting, wolf!Graves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Credence Barebone knows he's different. He can't hide the aberrations of his body, the ears and tail that mark him as inhuman, a witch.  He can transform into a rabbit, but other creatures know that he is different: too human, too conscious.  He thinks he is alone, straddling the edge of human and demon, until he meets another of his kind.  The chase begins, and Credence finds a place he might belong to. But what is the cost of finding it?[Or, an a/b/o AU where all wizards are Animagi and can sometimes have animal ears. ]





	1. Chapter 1

Credence glanced nervously around the bushes, feeling the dread growing in his belly; he’d never been this far from home.

But the air smelled so sweet, the plants looked so delicious and the cool forest shade on his scarred body made him feel almost relaxed.

Mother would be so upset. Then again, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. He’d always been an ill-omen, with fur as dark as night, and dark eyes that seemed to reflect in the moonlight. A monster, she had called him. A freak. He was not like other rabbits. Much of his pelt was bare, devoid of fur, showing golden pale skin almost like a human’s.

His sisters were the same, but with soft white fur that covered their sinful parts.  His parts were not so easily hidden, though the fur was luxuriously soft.  His hands were almost human, but the nails grew far too sharp, and instead of human ears, two sensitive rabbit ears sprouted forth from beneath the silky hair of his head. They’d been found all together, a soft pile of freakish hybrids, but his sisters had long outgrown the disgusting animal relics of their filthy parentage. Only Credence, it seemed, just could not hide the downy ears, no matter how Mother punished him.

Sometimes, when he was frightened, and he was frightened often, he could shrink, shrink down, until he was all rabbit, nothing more than a trembling lump of soft black fur.  And sometimes, when even that became unbearable, he could feel himself dissolve, his body nothing more than a wisp of smoke on the wind.  Eventually, he stayed small all the time, because at least as an animal, he could not defile God’s image.  Mother seemed to prefer it that way. She'd graciously built him a hutch, far from the church, and there he stayed.

One night, staring out at the glorious moon, white and round like a precious coin, he’d felt such a terrible longing, such an agonizing desire to disappear, that he did just that. His body dissolved into smoke, drifting lazily through the cracks of the hutch.

That is how he’d found himself here, far away from his sisters, and far away from Mother’s reach. He was free, yes, but also hopelessly lost.

He sat down amongst the bushes and felt the familiar tug in his stomach that told him that he could no longer stand the strain of being an animal.

He’d fought the urge for so long. Credence _missed_ being human, the stretch of legs, dextrous fingers. Just the thought of taking up space. His body was trembling from the exertion of dissolving into nothingness and putting himself back together. With a soft sigh, he let himself take his natural shape, limbs splaying out on the soft grass. It was good.

Maybe being free wouldn’t be so bad after all. He felt lightheaded, almost giddy. He rolled luxuriously on the grass and clover, feeling the softness tickling at the patches of bare skin. It smelled delicious, nothing like the ancient carrots and withered hay Mother would bring him. His stomach rumbled. What a pity. Grass just never tasted as good when he was his real self.

The pain was dull, settling heavily in his body. Credence paid it no heed at first; he was used to hunger. Surely if clover would feed him as a rabbit, it couldn’t hurt now that he had his regular body back? He took a handful of the soft leaves and chewed on them, grimacing at the taste.

Bees gathered gently around the flowers, bumbling softly and dipping into the soft yellow centers for pollen. They were so diligent, so unlike him. Credence could already feel tiredness threatening to overtake him. Maybe if he just lay here a while longer, maybe he could sleep the pain away.

He must have dozed off, because when he next looked around, the forest was dark. The pain was sharper now, radiating up through his belly, down between his legs. He sat up gingerly, each movement sparking new, fresh waves of discomfort.  The clover beneath him was damp, far too damp to be dew. Had he wet himself? Before he had time to feel ashamed, instinct made him freeze.

A strange scent wafted on the air.  There was a darkness to it, a heaviness he tasted on his tongue. It made his fur stand on end. Something about the smell made him feel… strange was not the word for it. A feeling stirred within his small body, worming its way through him like a living entity. The more he breathed it in, the more he began to tremble. The emotion seemed almost too big for him to hold inside of him, but he could not describe it. It tasted like longing, but more than anything, it tasted like fear.

Fear.

He should be afraid of this thing.  

Behind him, a twig snapped. Oh God. Oh God, he had to move, to run, but his rabbit instincts could only tell him to stay still. His right ear twitched. Slowly the beast emerged from the bushes, a massive black shape silhouetted against the darkness of the  a forest. It seemed so impossibly large and for that one split second, they looked at each other, prey and predator.  With a vicious growl, it leapt at him. Credence scrambled desperately in the grass, his claws digging into the earth as he heard the pounding of the creature’s paws behind him. Its breath was hot and heavy, and to something as small as Credence, it might well have been a dragon. His heart was pounding so hard; he could feel the blood rushing in his ears.  He stumbled, slipped on some moss, and the creature’s teeth closed around the scruff of his neck.

Credence hung there like a ragdoll. His body was so limp, he could scarcely breathe. Oh god, sinner, freak that he was, he couldn’t even remember the words to pray.

The creature dropped him to the ground.

“Please,” he gasped as soon as the shock dissipated. Hot breath fanned over his neck for  moment before the teeth sank into the junction between his shoulder and neck. If he could have screamed, he might have begged. His whole world was the raw, red circle of pain. An eternity passed before the teeth unsheathed from his neck, each fang a barb ripping through flesh.

Credence shuddered bodily as the rough tongue laved over the wounds. The beast’s weight settled on his back, pinning him despite his renewed struggling. Credence drew in a breath to beg, but immediately began sobbing instead. The licking moved further, up his neck, to his cheek, dissolving into gentle hums and nuzzles. His neck still throbbed painfully with each beat of his heart, but it was not so debilitating that he could not turn to look his coming death in the face. He was still sobbing, eyes closed tightly,but he could be brave, if it was the last act he was to perform in this life. The beast's snout was rough and prickly, almost too sharp to be fur. A boar, maybe?

Credence opened his eyes and turned to meet his enemy's gaze.

“What a sweet bunny,” said the wolf. “How did you find yourself so far from home?”

But it _wasn't_ a wolf, or rather, it was as much of a wolf as he was a rabbit. The wolf looked down at him hungrily; a handsome man, with sharp features and a wicked grin.

A spasm of lightning-hot pain wracked his body. Credence struggled beneath the wolf, desperate to curl into himself, to press warmth into the terrible clench in his belly. At the same time, he felt a trickle of fluid between his legs, coming from… oh God he was so disgusting. Even his own body was revolting against him in his fear.

“Please don't,” he gasped, arching back against his captor. “It hurts, please.” The pain subsided for a moment and rational thought came flooding back into his brain. “Please don't eat me,” he sobbed. “I don't taste very good. I’m so--” His voice wavered as pain sparked in his stomach again. “Th-thin,” he finished.

The wolf laughed, a low rumble that sent chills down Credence’s spine.

“Oh no, dear boy. That won't work now. Not when I've already tasted you.” Credence felt a sharp nip at his shoulder blade and shuddered.

The wolf's claws dug into his hips, holding him in place as the cramps returned in full force. Something wet pressed against the small of his back. It was so soft and warm, Credence almost mistook it for a kiss, but then he felt the wolf's move even lower, until he was licking at the base of his spine. The wolf played with the fluffy cotton tail for a bit, clearly enjoying the tease. Then suddenly the rough tongue was stroking soft swirls against his hole.

Credence understood the basics of sex. He lived in a small village, where more people owned chickens and rabbits than not. Even the most sheltered child among them would occasionally happen upon some amorous squirrels come springtime, and Credence, though naive, was not a child. But this was something outside all his understanding.

The wolf nuzzled between his cheeks, licking greedily at the clear fluid dripping from his opening.  Credence was trembling so hard that he could hardly take in the sensation or make sense of it.  A part of his brain did remember this; waking up nights with sticky sheets, far too drenched to be mere semen or sweat, but too sticky to be urine. He’d just assumed it was more strangeness, more of the dark magic that permeated his body and caused him to sin. Now he had even more proof of his demonic nature. Only a demon could be so foul, only another demon so tempted by it. He felt the wolf’s tongue breach his hole, and he shuddered, unsure if what he was feeling was pain or pleasure.   

Credence sobbed softly into his arms. He deserved to die. He was a freak, an abomination, a monster. Perhaps God himself had sent this beast to devour him.  And the beast was certainly… enthusiastic about his holy mission. Credence squeaked as he felt the roughness of his wolf’s face against the sensitive skin between his hole and his sac. It felt so strange. It was almost pleasant, if Credence could be honest with himself for one moment before his death. He’d thought the wolf might be cleaning him, but it was obvious from the sound and feeling that the wolf had entirely different intentions. Credence found himself whimpering as he felt the soft pad of a thumb join the tongue in caressing his rim. Should he let himself enjoy it, he wondered. It would be a sin, but surely his death might absolve him from a few moments of enjoyment.

Credence yelped as he felt another stab of pain, this time in his rump. The wolf’s tongue soothed over the bite and Credence’s heart settled into a more regular rhythm. He wasn’t going to be eaten. At least not yet.

“Do you… do you usually play with your food?” he asked softly, before his insides seized again and he doubled over in pain.  The wolf’s laugh was raucous, echoing in the emptiness of the clearing.

“Play with my food? I suppose this does count, doesn’t it? But you’re hardly more than a mouthful.” The wolf settled down in the grass next to Credence, pressing his chest to Credence’s back and wrapping his large arms around his trembling body. “You do smell delicious, little rabbit. I’m afraid I won’t be able to control myself.”

Credence shivered as he felt the wolf nip gently at the wound in his neck again. The pain was only increasing, coiling inside of his belly like snakes desperate to devour each other.  

“Oooh, you poor, thing,” the wolf cooed, rubbing very human hands over Credence’s belly. “How long have you been on suppressants? I can’t imagine this is going to be an easy heat for you. Let’s see what we can do about that. Raise your knee for me?”

Credence knew all the individual words the wolf said, but could not for the life of him understand anything except that the wolf could help somehow with the pain. So he did as requested, lifting his knee towards his chest. They were laying on their sides, the wolf’s body still pressed against his.

“Hold it there for me. I’ve got you,” said the wolf. Credence closed his eyes tightly, unsure of which direction this would take. All he knew was that the wolf’s smell was flooding his senses, sweet and spicy and earthy all at once. He felt the wolf’s large hand squeeze the meat of his rump, almost tenderly, before, clever fingers were massaging his hole again. Ah, that was the way this was going to go. All right then. If it helped the pain, then perhaps death might be sweeter that way.

Credence already felt so loose, so slick, but once the wolf had three fingers working him open, he began to feel the strain of it.  

All the while, the wolf muttered sweet things against Credence’s cheek, how sweet he smelled, how soft his fur, how beautiful he was. Beautiful. Credence had never thought of himself that way before.

By the time the wolf withdrew his fingers, Credence understood exactly what he’d meant by ‘ _heat._ ’ His skin felt like it was on fire. He wanted and wanted, but didn’t know how to ease the terrible roiling torment eating him from the inside out.  

The wolf slid his body slower, pressing kisses to Credence's shoulder like he was something precious, or maybe something delicious.  He felt the press of something much wider than fingers against him, and shuddered as a fresh wave of slick dripped down his thighs.  

It was unimaginably large inside of him, a white hot iron bar spearing his insides.  The wolf gripped him tightly, sharp nails digging into flesh as he eased his cock deeper.

For a moment, Credence couldn't breathe, trapped as he was between the pain of being entered and the seizing of his body. Then the wolf withdrew a bit, pushed inside again, and the cramps grew to an intensity that wrenched a desperate scream from his throat. His body clenched tightly around him, once, twice, and then relaxed all at once.

Credence wept with the relief of it, and the wolf gently hummed his approval as Credence's body accepted him deeper. The wolf stilled as he bottomed out, pressing so flush against him that Credence could feel how their balls nestled together.

Goosebumps prickled along the flesh of his thighs as the wolf drew his fingertips up the length of them and then tucked a strong hand under Credence's knee to keep him open.

Credence sobbed still, taking great, shuddering breaths while the wolf, perhaps from pity or perhaps for his own enjoyment, did not move.  The organ sheathed inside of him was pulsing with heat, or was the warmth from Credence himself?

The wolf must have pitied him, because he showered his shoulder with soft kisses, only worrying a bit at the dark bruises now starting to form around the bites.  Credence felt like he was dreaming. He'd never been held so tight, never felt so full. He was going to die, but the wolf's scent was intoxicating. He was drowning in it, the earthiness, the spice of it. Deliriously he wondered if it was akin to the frankincense and myrrh with which Jesus had been anointed, but was interrupted in this chain of thought by the wolf's question.

“What's your name?” The wolf's mouth was so close to his ear, the warm breath fanning over his cheek.  Credence struggled to find his speech.

“Credence,” he whispered. He turned his head slightly so he could look his executioner in the eye. “My name is Credence.” The wolf… no… the man gazed back at him. Even with the wild mane of hair and the wolf ears, he still looked remarkably human. A witch. A beast. A monster.

 _Like me_ , Credence thought.

The wolf's hand moved from Credence's knee, dragging along his stomach and finally cupping his cheek.

“I'm Percival,” the man whispered back, and Credence found himself leaning into the touch, straining his neck so he could accept the kiss being offered him.  His lips parted slightly, and he caught a hint of the taste that sent a sudden trickle of wetness down his thighs. Just to be touched, to be kissed and held, was more of a joy than any he'd yet experienced.

Percival was such a beautiful, noble name, a brave knight.  Credence thought it suited him, wild as he looked.

“It’s ok,” Credence said. “It's ok. I deserve it. Take what you want. Do what you want.”  At that, the wolf grinned, showing brilliantly white teeth and slid a muscular thigh behind Credence's.

“I think you do deserve it,” Percival said, punctuating the statement with a thrust that sent sparks alight inside of him.

Credence closed his eyes, but the wolf gently patted his cheek as he began to move in earnest.

“Don't you dare. I wanna see your pretty face when I come inside that tight little cunt of yours.” Credence stifled a gasp at the sudden rush of heat in his belly. How he wanted to hide from that piercing gaze, those dark, liquid eyes. He felt his face and ears growing red with shame, but he didn't look away. The man’s lips were pressed tight together, just the hint of a strain in the lines of his mouth. There was a kind of beauty to the dance of their bodies: the effort, the agony, the concentration. Credence tried to remember to breathe.

Percival kept their faces close, sometimes looking at him, sometimes pressing kisses to his cheek. All at once, he paused and leaned forward to kiss him until Credence was breathless with want, scratching at the strong forearm wrapped around his waist as he attempted to get more leverage. Percival was methodical, slow, his thick cock brushing agonizingly against something inside of him. It wasn't exactly good, that is to say, the sweetness wasn't concentrated, the way it was in his cock. It was soft and warm and spreading down his thighs and into his balls.  His own cock was terribly neglected, hard and red and aching to be touched, but there was nothing he could do to get any more friction. In frustration Credence whined and struggled, digging his nails into whatever flesh he could get a grip on. Percival hissed, stuttering in his rhythm.

“Fighty little thing, aren't you? Is this what you're after?”  He massaged a smooth paw along the length of his tummy, stopping when his fingers just brushed the silk-soft fur that gathered around his cock.

Credence whined again, and the calloused fingers wrapped around his length. Percival seem to revel  in slowness, in deliberate  moves, dragging each ragged breath from Credence's lungs with a clever squeeze.

The adrenaline left him limp in the wolf's arms, a mere plaything to be used and discarded. His head lolled to the side. It was so much. It was more than he could ever have imagined.

Inside him he felt the wolf growing thicker, felt the clench of his own body as it became harder and harder for Percival to pull out.  Credence was too breathless even to moan, just soft, little gasps of “Ah! Ah! Ah!” But even those faint sounds seemed to rile Percival up, and Credence was rewarded with more roughness, a shaking hand practically wringing his orgasm from his tender cock.

Percival continued to thrust into his limp body, his weight crushing him into the damp clover beneath them. He was pinned,  unable to escape the growing pressure, the tightness pressing against his insides filling him until every sensation blended into one, and there was no space, no difference between their bodies. God he thought he might be melting into each other. Percival was above him now, pounding into him, shamelessly moaning his name.

Credence was still shaking with the aftershocks, but instead of calming, he felt the intensity building inside him again. It was all he could do to hold his ground as Percival's movements grew more and more erratic.  Suddenly there was an intense pressure. Credence howled his relief as something hot, agonizingly sweet spurted inside of him. Percival could no longer pull out, nor could Credence have let him. A dribble of his own cum dripped down his flaccid cock, a faint echo of the fluid inside of him.

Percival cooed and kissed him, murmuring sweet praise and nuzzling against his own velvety bunny ears. Credence was far too hot, but they were still locked together, and there were far worse things than being gently loved. He focused on breathing, working through the exhaustion, and the lingering little jolts of pleasure.

“Mercy Lewis, you're lovely,” Percival breathed against his shoulder. “Do you need someone to stay with for the rest of your heat? Sorry if I was a bit rough. Don't often get someone who's so in character. And the hunt is the best part, isn't it?”

Credence wasn't sure what was more astonishing, that the man still had energy to talk after that or that the words seemed so casual in tone.  Everything was fuzzy and overwhelming, even the smooth tones of Percival's voice.

“Sorry… a what?” Credence asked. He felt sleep threatening to steal upon him, and secretly hoped he might not ever wake again. Gradually, the pressure of the cock inside him began to lessen, leaving him uncomfortably aware of the slickness and emptiness left in its wake.

“Are you not going to eat me? Aren't you a witch?” Credence continued. There was no real curiosity in his voice. It was as though he'd been drugged, poisoned with satiety.

“I mean, I hope it's obvious I'm not a _witch_ , Credence,” Percival said with grin. “How is it that I haven't seen you before? Are you new to these parts? I mean, I'd have heard if there was an available Omega in town.”

Credence blearily looked up at Percival as the wolf features blended and dissolved.

“Omega?” he asked. He stifled a yawn. “Weren't you… s'posed not to be a witch? ‘ mean you're… changing like one ri--” He stifled another enormous yawn, slurring his words around it. There just was not room in him for a single ounce of fear. “-iiight now,” he finished. He yawned again, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. If he could just sleep against this man forever, he would be happy.  Percival's chest was just the regular amount of hairy now, but as Credence nestled against him, he found he didn't know which he liked more.

“‘’m I a witch too?” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut. “So sleep..”

Suddenly he was being shaken roughly awake.  Credence struggled to open his eyes against the siren call of his own body’s need for rest.

“Credence listen to me carefully,” Percival said, and Credence realized that the man was now fully dressed, glorious in beautifully tailored coat and suit. Magic, he thought.

“Credence, where are you from?” A strange question.

“Harrow Hill?” he said. “It's small… not far from here. I think? I didn't exactly walk.”

“That’s-- there's no record of a wizarding community there. That's a No-Maj town.  Who are your parents? Where's your family from?”

“Ma said my real mother died in a fire. Was burned for being a witch.”

Percival's grip on his shoulders was bruising in its intensity.

“Your real mother?”

“I'm… I'm adopted,” Credence said, turning his face away from his captor. The fear was returning now. He was still so painfully naked.

“But she's not… you said. Your adopted mother isn't a witch.”

Credence shook his head no. He couldn't quite read the expression on Percival's face, but he had the suspicion that the man was angry.

“You've never studied magic, have you?”

Credence shook his head no again. Percival breathed heavily out, massaging his temples with his fingers.

“Get your clothes,” Percival said at last.

“I don't have any.”

Percival's eyes widened.

“You walked out here naked?” he asked.

Credence blushed down to the roots of his hair.

“I didn't... it was just better to be a rabbit. Rather than… Rabbits don't need clothes,” Credence said.

Percival stood suddenly, shrugging off his coat and handing it to Credence.

“I've heard enough.”

“Enough of what?”

“Credence, I'm so sorry for whatever nightmare you've gone through, but it ends now. You're a wizard, Credence. You belong with me… with us, that is. With your people.”

Credence blinked at him.

“I'm a what?” Credence asked.

“A wizard,” Percival said, his mouth a grim line. “And now you're coming with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Yer a wizard, Credence. Also you can get pregnant* but that rarely happens. Just FYI."
> 
> [*That definitely will not happen in this fic]


	2. A Broken Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while to update but mostly because the story took an unexpected turn. Ideally chapter 3 can wrap things up!

His stomach sinks into the floor. There's a horrible darkness that licks at his insides. A terrible darkness that feels like a vacuum. It draws the edges of his being inward. He feels almost concave, collapsing into himself. 

From his vantage point, he can see a sliver of daylight through the gap in the heavy velvet curtains. Credence breathes in deeply, burying his face into the old shirt that Percival has let him use. It grounds him momentarily, and he no longer feels like his being is being sucked out through as straw. The pillow he has clutched to his belly is warmed magically.

For a moment, he contemplates turning to find a more comfortable position, but he checks the impulse for fear of disturbing the creature on his knee. He's been dressed in a long shirt like thing, blue and red, decorated with a strange black cat with six legs. It had been moving from place but at least it had settled down to sleep. It was lovely, so lifelike. 

At his side sits a silver goblet inlaid with some sort of ancient crest. It glitters  up with a sparkle so golden that it casts flecks of light on the bedspread beside him. 

He's meant to drink it; he knows it'll settle him more than the smell, but it feels so artificial. He'd rather have Percival stroking his hair again. That, however, is not an option. Down the hall Credence can hear voices. Percival's voice, a low deep rumble, and a clearer voice. A woman most likely. If he closes his eyes, he can just catch a hint of what they're saying.

“I think this might be his first heat. Do you know anything about No-Maj-raised wizards?”

“I’m not sure. Healer Amara says she's never heard of anything like it. No-majs do register as betas, she tells me. So she thinks his heats might have been delayed all these years dude to lack of pheromone exposure. She couldn't imagine what that kind of delay could have done to his body.”

“Its unbelievable to be honest. An unregistered Omega. How could it have happened? He must have been horrified when I…”

“Percival, you couldn't possibly have known. He was in heat on state-sanctioned breeding grounds. Why would you have assumed he was unwilling?”

“I should have suspected! I should have asked!”

“You're not a man accustomed to asking.”

“But I should be! I could feel him trembling… 

“If you hadn't been there, the pain would have driven him into shock. You know that.”

It is somewhere around this point that Credence decides that he cannot deal with being talked about any longer. He shifts, starting the cat in his shirt-dress awake, then, with a deep breath, he moves his weight from the bed to his feet.

Credence makes his way down the hall, going as quickly as unsteady legs can take him, which isn't quick at all. He tries to breathe through the pain, and the sick feeling of fluid making its way down his thighs. His feet shuffle over the carpet, and a few times he almost trips but he keeps his weight on the wall as much as he can. 

The light at the end of the hallway glows neon green.

Magic, he thinks to himself. 

He almost faints when he finally peeks around the corner.

Percival is sitting cross-legged in front of the bright green flames of the hearth. This is not surprising. What is surprising is that nestled among the flames is the head of a very stately looking woman wearing a headscarf and an expression of disapproval.

Credence stumbles back as Percival turns to look at him, and accidentally knocks over both an end table and a vase.

“Reparo,” Percival mutters, and the vase seems to shatter in reverse. With a graceful wave of his wand, the end table rights itself and the vase floats lightly back to where it had been.

“Credence,” he says finally. “You should try and get some rest. MACUSA will be sending healers here soon and they'll be able to contain the worst of the heat.”

His hands are shaking as he grabs ahold of the wall.  Percival's face is unreadable, but the newly awakened darkness in Credence can smell how the other man's body is radiating arousal. He has words for these new senses now, courtesy of the textbooks which Percival had so helpfully placed at his bedside.

“No,” Credence says and there's a firmness in his voice that he didn't even realize he possessed. “I don't want healers. That drink you gave me makes me feel numb. They're just going to feed me more of it. It feels wrong.”

“Credence,” Percival says, and the lines of his expression soften into tenderness. “You need healers. That potion is just going to stave off the pain until they get here.” 

“And what are they going to do when they do get here?” Credence asks.

From the fireplace rings out the voice of the woman. 

“Good evening, Credence.” The woman's gaze was stern, but not unkind. “My name is Seraphina Piquery, President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America.”

Credence stares at her a bit. Right. More weirdness. 

“The Healers will most likely put you in a magically induced coma so you can sleep through the worst of the pain. An unbonded Omega, and one magically untrained at that, could wreak unimaginable havoc on civilians. Uncontrolled magic is unacceptable given our requirements for secrecy. I'm sure you're concerned, understandably, given that this is all new to you, but this is the best and arguably, the most humane way of dealing with this.” She pauses and take a deep breath, and for the first time he sees something of vulnerability in her expression

“I hope this is something you can come to accept,” Seraphina says. 

At this point, the pain is so bad that he can hardly stand. Credence steps back only to bump into a very solid body. Percival catches him, and in his free hand is the silver goblet. He presses the goblet to Credence's lips.

Credence shudders as the warm liquid tips into his protesting mouth. The drink sparks and froths against his tongue, but almost immediately the pain eases. He swallows as much as he can and then a strong arm wraps around his waist, keeping him standing while he legs sway dangerously beneath him. 

“There, there,” Percival says. Credence’s eyes close of their own accord and then suddenly he feels himself pressed tightly to Percvial’s chest. Against his cheek, a heartbeat thrums, a warm and soothing rhythm that sinks deep into his body. 

His legs weigh thousands of pounds, but Percival carries him to the couch as though he were for all the world a baby rabbit. 

But heavy though his arms are, Credence does not release his grasp on Percival’s shoulders as the man attempts to leave him.

“You're going to let them take me away?” Credence whispers. “ What's wrong? What have I done wrong?”

Percival's brows furrow, and Credence is reminded of two amorous caterpillars sharing a quick kiss. It's difficult to hold back, and while Percival strokes his fluffy ears he giggles helplessly, trying to muffle the sound with his hands. He doesn't know why he's laughing. He  _ shouldn't  _ be laughing.  He's in an unfamiliar world, fraught with new perils, unimaginable horrors and wonders, but the giggles tumble forth like pearls escaping the string of a broken necklace. 

Percival's eyes remain very sad, very dark, and Credence swears there's the bit of a glitter of unshed tears. With a deep breath, Credence grabs a fistful of Percival's shirt. It steadies him, and he gasps out the words as best he can.

“This is your fault, isn't it?”  Credence says. His hands trembles with the effort of keeping him alert. “Are you getting rid of me? After what you've done?”

“Credence, I'm so sorry---”

“I read that  _ pamphlet _ you left me,” Credence snarls, and now it's the anger bubbling under the sickly sweet pull of the potion of that keeps him afloat. 

“Explained a lot. You're meant to take care of me, aren't you? 

“It’s..  I mean, it's a role alphas are meant to undertake, but after what happened I thought--”

“Then fulfil your d-damned role!” Credence hisses, tightening his grip on Percival's shirt. “You coward! Throwing me to the next person when it's your responsibility. When you took advantage of me, of my weakness--”

A hand reaches between their bodies and forcefully loosens Credence’s hand from Percival’s shirt front. He turns to look.

Even covered in soot, the woman from the flames is intimidating in her beauty, in the fierce strength that even now keeps Credence’s searching fingers at bay. 

There’s another rush of sleepiness.

“You don’t even know what you are,” she says, and again he hears that note of pity in her voice. What is he, that even in his resentment he elicits pity in strangers?

Pathetic. A stupid rabbit. His eyes threaten to close. Percival’s soft warm hand strokes his face.

He knows its Percival not so much by sight or feel, but by the  _ smell _ of him, that endlessly calming scent that enwreaths him. He can smell Ms. Piquery as well, a strange, subdued scent, reminiscent of soap and gardinias. 

“Let me stay with him,” Credence mumbles, a tiny push against the enclosing darkness.

A beat passes. Credence sinks ever deeper into the scent, feeling it wrap around him in all of its cinnamon undertones. Another, cooler hand strokes his fevered forehead and he passes out. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He has always known the darkness was part of him. Even when he’d done he best to do what Ma wanted, worn a hat, baggy trousers desperate to hide his shame, the beast dwelt within him. It scratches at his insides, gushing smoke and growling, glowing white eyes that pierce though the fog of his mind with their pure and soothing rage.

_ Who am I? _ it asks.

_ Who will love me? _

He had hands once. The beating of his heart sounds so far away. 

“Talk about soothing the savage beast,” says a voice. He’s not sure what direction its coming from. He’s wrapped in a cloak made of sheer anger and hunger and  _ longing _ . But he feels the world turn around him, and suddenly he’s facing a group of figures. People, perhaps? Their faces are distorted, stretched long, white and ghostly, eyes pools of darkness.

“Sure you think you can handle him?” says one of them.

“God I’ve never seen one like this…” says another.

“Credence, don’t look at them, look at me!” He, at least the shapeless mass that is now himself, turns.

The figure is the same ugly white, a gash in his consciousness.  It smells of blood and also… underneath… a tinge of cinnamon and smoke, and a hint of red. He pauses.

The world settles a little around him, becomes muddy with colors instead of just pitch black.

The figure has an outline now, a shape of somehting human. Around him, the other figures stand their ground like so many melting candles.

“Credence,” says the voice softly. And he knows himself. He knows himself as Credence. That is his name.

Credence steps forward. He has legs now, and a mouth. Credence knows he has a mouth, because he opens it and screams. 

The sound is unlike anything he has ever heard before. It comes from his belly, sparks lightning-hot against his inside, against his throat and tongue and teeth, and comes out as thousands of voices. Each screams his torment in a different key.

The figures shake violently. Many fall to their knees. 

“Gorgeous,” whispers one. This one also smells of blood, but it's tinged with sea-salt, and its light is a faint shade of blue. It makes a motion akin to the cracking of a whip, and a cascade of golden light issues forth from its arm.

“Theseus!” the first voice calls as Credence turns to look at the display. 

“Come now, lovely,” says the figure, and Credence is grounded further. The world shakes slightly less, the floor feels like pavement beneath his feet, and he realizes that he has skin, that he can touch. 

He wants to touch. 

The wind around him howls his own pain and loneliness. The figure has hands, and a face, and a smile. It holds out its arms invitingly, and the lightning inside of him sparks again.

He wants to be embraced. 

But not by this one. No, not this sea-salt sweetness. 

He turns and looks wildly about for the other figure, the hint of red, the scent of cinnamon and crushed leaves.

It stands not far away, a tall figure, proud. In its aura is a ripple of guilt, of sadness and disgust. To Credence, it makes his prey sweeter. With a howl, he dashes towards the figure with his newly forming body.  The sinews knit together, the muscles tremble and shake, the smoke fills his bleeding lungs. He reaches out with gnarled hands for the prize, so near.

“Credence,” the figure says, and though the sound is barely more than a whisper, it pierces through him. He pauses, claws drawn, panting as his ribcage encloses his vulnerable heart. 

The black veil shrivels and withdraws where the figure touches it, evaporating into tiny puffs of clear smoke. 

Is this, Credence wonders, one of God’s angels?

The fur melts from his body as he’s pressed to the figure’s chest. The claws recede into his fingertips, becoming flat and broad.

He is whole, he is human. Credence closes his eyes…

...and then he opens them.

They’re standing in a dingy alleyway. The man holding him, of course, is Percival Graves, looking rumpled and tired, but still kind.

Around him are several people that must be witches, because each holds a wand in their hand. Credence can feel their stares; he draws himself as close to Percival as he can to hide his nakedness. 

“What,” Credence says finally. “What day is it?”

“It’s Wednesday,” Percival says. 

Wednesday. It’s been 3 days since he escaped his mother’s clutches, two days since he started his first heat.

There’s a small sound behind him, and a warm coat is placed over his shoulders. The man behind him is tall and strong, and his clear blue eyes sparkle with amusement. Credence can’t help but linger on the freckles at his throat, the way the auburn hair is swept back behind his ears, a stray curl escaping its brethren. 

Sea-salt, he thinks.

“There now,” says the man, and Credence shudders as the man smooths the coat down over his back. “Should cover up the scent. You’re quite wild, aren’t you? Bet you’ve got some of the old fae blood in you.” 

The man grins, but Credence remains wary. He’s in his body, yes, but senses he’s never known still stir within him. He can smell the hint of fear and discomfort in Percival’s body. He also smells the primeval hint of magic in both men, the thing the pamphlets said was Alpha.

The man continues to talk in his soothing English voice as Credence senses the other witches gathering around. They haven’t lowered their wands, and Credence knows that means he’s still a real threat to them. He’s never been threatening before. 

A very dark, very hidden part of him is thrilled with the knowledge of it.

“It’s Wednesay?” Credence asks, just to be sure that he’s not dreaming. 

“It's Wednesday,”  says Percival gently. He takes Credence in his arms. His hands shake slightly and after a moment's hesitation, he presses a kiss to Credence’s forehead. 

Wednesday. It's been two days since since he’s been properly sated. His body feels like it's on fire.

“You ran,” says Percival. “Why did you run?”

“I wanted you,” Credence whispers. He inhales and feels reality settle around him. 

The Englishman and Percival are shielding him from the others, and he takes another deep breath, pushes the darkness as far inside him as he can, until it locks somewhere, a slight hitch, ready to spring but for the moment, not dangerous. As he does this, he realizes that his scent changes. Around him, the group of Alphas relaxes. 

“Goodness Credence,” says the Englishman jovialy. “Can’t wait ‘til you’re properly trained up. What a marvel you are!” The man drapes a friendly arm around Credence’s shoulders, and Credence feels that familiar jolt of longing in his stomach. With his other hand pulls out a small box. In it is a badge of silver emblazoned with the words “PORTKEY #J-705. OFFICIAL USE ONLY. PROPERTY OF MACUSA.” Percival tightens his grip on Credence, and its at that moment that Credence sees a brief exchange of nods as both Percival and the Englishman reach out to touch the badge.

~~~*~*~~~*~*~*~

Credence doesn’t throw up but he comes extremely close. Both men caught his now limp body as the whirls of color and wind and sound overwhelmed him. Then they gently let guide him to his knees so he can properly collapse. The ground beneath him is solid now. Actually it’s hardwood. Credence is torn between wanting to empty the contents of his stomach and admiring how he can see his reflection in the polish.

“Alright?” Percival’s hand presses reassuringly against his shoulder. Credence swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth and gives a small nod.  They help him to his feet, and Credence sees that they’re standing in a magnificent office. Burnished golds and burgundys adorn the walls and furniture. Portraits adorn the walls (one of them nods at Credence) and a large eagle perches upon what looks like an enormous moving globe. 

At the desk, the only thing that indicates that this is an office and not a palace, sits the woman from the flames. 

“Hello, Credence,” she says.

“Hello, Ms. uh...um… Piquery,” Credence says. How the name has stuck with him he doesn’t know. 

Maybe it’s subconscious. A part of him remembers a white room, nurses, hushed voices, the stench of antiseptics. 

_ “He’s fighting the suppressants, Ms Piquery.” _

Credence shakes his head, as though the movement will help rid himself of half-remembered horrors. The two men have already helped him to his feet, and with one at each side, Credence has the suspicion that he’s been arrested.

There’s a fire crackling in the corner, and Credence has to hide a smile as he imagines the elegant woman before him having to crawl around on the floor to stick her head in the hearth.

“Is something funny?” Piquery asks.

“No. Not at all.” Credence speaks instinctively. “Wait,” he continues. “Yes something  _ is _ funny.  _ This _ is funny.” Credence waves a hand vaguely to indicate whatever “this” is.

“This situation,” he continues,”This horrible, weird and terrifying situation.”

He senses rather than sees the two men exchange glances behind his back.

“What am I? Who am I? What is happening to me? Why am I like  _ this _ ?” At the last word he gestures to his lovely, fluffy bunny ears, which are pressed flat in terror, or is it anger?

Picquery pauses for moment and taps her fingers together, letting the ring of Credence’s voice fade into silence. 

“Well now, Credence. I’m glad you’ve calmed down enough to have an existential crisis instead of alerting every No-Maj in the country with another flagrant display of untamed magic,” she says, with a glance at her fingernails. Credence doesn’t know why she bothers; they’re immaculate.

Her eyes meet his after a moment. 

“You haven’t lived in our world. You don’t understand the absolute need we have for secrecy. You’re a terrible burden on us, a liability.”

At the word “burden” Credence’s stomach sinks into his shoes, sloshing about uncomfortably. 

“You’ve no one to vouch for you, no friends. Were it not for your status as an Omega, we might have to destroy you.”

Destroy, like one might speak of an animal.

Credence shudders.

“In any case, we can’t allow you to just roam free. On the other hand, you are a wizard, whether you like it or not and are thus heir to certain rights.”  Credence feels a steadying hand on the small of his back. He straightens instinctively. 

“So let’s compromise. We’ll let you have your pick of Alphas, and in turn they’ll be your sort of guardian here.”

Credence shuddered again. From one prison to another then. 

“Is that it?” he asks. “No other choice?”

“The fact that you even have a choice here is a testament to how highly we value people of your capacities. The council has decided that you’re a valuable asset and with a little cooperation, not an undue danger to our way of living.”

Credence swallows, and behind him he again senses that Percival’s heartbeat has quickened. 

I’m dangerous… he thinks to himself. A part of him feels the dark tendrils stir within him again, while another part soothes and rocks the dark impulses into complacency.

There is a war inside of him; perhaps it was his own responsibility to contain it. He could be meek if meekness was called for. 

“I accept,” he says.


	3. Another Kind of Hutch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while since I’ve updated this. This is very unbetaed but also the story took an unexpected turn. Rest assured the triad is coming. I’ll probably revise this chapter for clarity later but I was excited to post what I had.

_The world has always been like this, said the maiden. The prince shook his head sadly. A mere mortal could not understand. The terrible fire was upon him. In his heart he knew the maiden could not sate the terrible beast within him. She was no Warrior. Just as he was no mortal. He was a Beast, and as such held the line of his kingdom in his body. The very essence of magic, the creation of life, of earth, of eternity. All these things burned in his veins, just as it had done for his father, and his father’s mother before him. The maiden’s scent was soft, lovely, refreshing even. Damp like fresh-turned earth. But that in itself revealed that within her there was no magic.The dark key that could lock the wildness, the portal of horror and joy and creation, that was not hers to give. And yet he loved._

_How he loved._

__

__

_Could he not fight the beast himself? Turn his own magic to his own bidding that he might find a peaceful life? Could he live a life so far away from the wild torment of the lunar cycles, of fire and blood and despair and passion?_

Credence tosses the book aside. His eyes are swimming with tiredness. Besides, he knows how the book will end. Another cautionary tale about mixing blood. Popular tripe, Theseus had said.

“We’ve no such laws against marrying Muggles back home. You really are a backward people, you Americans.”

Credence closes his eyes, feels a single tear escape his lashes. Theseus is a friend. A good friend. A friend who could, as the book put it, “sate the terrible beast within him.”

How pathetic.

He’d learned many things since he’d begun his stay in Castle-by-the-Sea. Kingdom-Upon-Tyne, or whatever this place was called. He knows about MACUSA, about Portkeys, about traveling by Floo, about breeding grounds.

He knows that the name for what he is: an Omega.

 _A beast,_ he thinks.

The sand is warm to the touch, and he buries his toes in it. Toes no longer marred by claws or paw pads. He’s at least learned that much of control. The ears, however, remain. Even among witches— no, wizards, he reminds himself— he is somewhat of an oddity. Omegas are rare, even for wizards. Theseus had mentioned it in passing; it seemed that it was a trait that was slowly being bred out of wizards. Even pureblood families would often produce merely the occasional Alpha every generation or so. There are not many of his type.

This is a blessing, since, according to Theseus, these are the most unstable type of wizard, hardly conducive to maintaining the level of secrecy needed for them to survive.

His sisters, he’d realized, must also be omegas. Prey animals. Docile. Fertile. Seemingly helpless.

Helpless, he thinks, in the way a brown recluse is helpless.

“Credence!”

A voice calls out over the sand. A blue-clad figure with russett hair is stepping among the sand dunes like some sort of desert animal, sure-footed and glad.

“Mr Scamander!” Credence cries out, rising to meet him. The figure stops before him, face flushed from his exertion.

“Credence! I told you not to call me that. Mr Scamander is my brother, if he’s anyone.” Newt grins at Credence, holding in front of him a weathered leather satchel.

“Sorry. It’s just… I’m never sure… “

“Oh you absolutely outrank me, so you shouldn’t worry about that,” Newt says laughingly.

Credence smiles politely and takes the satchel from him. The scent of it is Newt’s of course, dulled down by medicine. Foresty. Spruce? Or is it juniper?

Newt would never say if he was Alpha or Omega, only that it was an inconvenience either way, and he much envied Muggles’ ability to just go about their business uninhibited by wild swings of hormones.

He likes Newt, Credence thinks upon reflection

Newt is unlike anyone he’d ever met, including the many wizards hed now had a chance to know. Credence wonders how his friend can be so blunt, so matter of fact, and yet so unfailingly kind.

“Well, seems like a good enough place for a picnic,” Newt says cheerfully. He reaches into his satchel and pulled out a picnic basket far too large to fit in it.

Credence feels the little jolt of fear and delight that accompanies a display of magic, however slight.

The sky is a blazing robin’s egg blue above them. Strange, for England. Usually the fog rolled blanket-like across the sleepy dull grey sea along sand that constantly reminded you it had once been gravel, or rock or shell.

Credence buried his feet in the sand anyway. He’d taken to walking barefoot mostly, here at the tower. If he’s honest, he doesn’t mind it much. He is, after all, a liability.

Newt lays the bright red-checked blanket on the sand. By hand, he noticed. The man is remarkably hands-on. Rather like his brother.

Credence feels his cheeks burning, then turns away to look out at the sea.

“Egg salad alright?” asks the muffled voice to his right. Newt is already half-way through one of the sandwiches, and a large pile lies on a plate in front of them, each neatly wrapped in wax paper.

He takes one, noting that the crust had been removed. Not something Newt had prepared then. Newt holds a sandwich in one hand and a quill in another hand. A large book is propped open in his lap. Each page of the book has copious notes and corrections in red ink. Entire paragraphs have been crossed out, and it appears pieces of parchment have been pasted in. Credence is mesmerized for a while before Newt seems to catch himself. Newt looks up sheepishly.

“Sorry, Credence. Just needed to update some things,” Newt says. He reaches for another sandwich and hands one to Credence as well.

“Gotta keep your strength up,” Newt says. He reaches over, with far too much familiarity, and points at Credence’s collar bones. “You’ve lost some weight. Not very good. Need those calories to get you through your heats.”

Credence nods, and tried to swallow the small bite of sandwich he’s already taken. It’s good. Of course it’s good. Hunger used to be such a part of him. He remembers the gnawing, aching feeling. It seems so far away.

“Lemon squash?” Newt askes. Credence accepts. He likes Newt, but his visits remind Credence of exactly the thing he can not do. Newt could come and go as he pleased. Newt was not a liability.

His heart aches. Newt glances at him, and then at the food. “Credence, it won’t be like this forever. I know Theseus will plead your case with the Wizengamot, and with MACUSA. It’s just… he has—“

“He has his own life,” says Credence dully. He leans over the side of the blanket and buries his hands in the sand, trying to imagine dissolving into foam.

Around his ankle, a silver strand of beads vibrates, emitting a small cloud of black smoke.

“He has his own life, yes. I won’t make excuses for him. He does care.” Newt says. His voice tried to be cheery, but didn't quite convey sincerity.

“I’m just part of his job,” Credence says. Even as he says it, he feels a twist of shame. Theseus doesn’t deserve to be saddled with a monster like him, and Credence has no right to resent him for being away. He’s too needy.

The string of beads vibrates more intensely and Credence feels them shrinking against his skin, growing hot and painful. He takes a deep breath, and stares up at the sky.

10, he thought. 9… 8… The smell of Percival’s hair… 6… 5… a warm and quiet place...3… 2… the feeling of flight…. 0.

Newt looks concerned. Credence attempts a smile, but judging by Newt’s expression it’s not reassuring.

“I’ve brought you some more books,” says Newt. Ah, good. He always appreciates Newt’s willingness to just act like everything was fine. It does make things seem a little more like they are actually fine. It warms his stomach.

He takes a bigger bite of sandwich, suddenly ravenous.

“Tell me about Guatemala,” Credence says. He loves this part. Newt’s whole being lights up. He even seems to sit up straighter.

“Let me tell you about the Quetzalcoatl,” he says. Credence sits, leaning against the rock face of the cliff as Newt tells him about a brilliant green bird with a majestic tail and red breast, and the god for whom it’s named. He talks about jungles, about towns and villages and people and food, about warm, humid evenings watching sunsets on crystal blue oceans. He tells him a few words in spanish, and in nahuatl.

Credence lets himself be caught up in it, in the warm, underlying current of magic. And all too soon it’s over.

There’s a chime, and Newt glances at his watch.

“Sorry, Credence. It looks like our time is almost up. My editor says she needs to have a few words with me.”

“Miss Tina, you mean?” asked Credence, trying and failing to hide a smile.

Newt blushed, and was suddenly very preoccupied with cleaning up the remnants of their meal.

“No my real editor. I mean, I did ask her… that is I asked Tina to look over the manuscript, but it's not… she hasn't written back yet.” Newt’s expression is thoroughly miserable, and Credence regrets having asked.

“I hope you hear from her soon,” says Credence softly. He wants to ask about Percival, but no, he can bring himself to. Besides, Tina might work for MACUSA, but that doesn’t mean she knows the director in a non professional context.

Newt gives him a wan smile.

“Perhaps,” Newt says softly.

Credence accompanies him to the edge of the domain. The barrier shimmers mirage-like, reflecting his own distorted image back at him. Newt turns, waves, and then turns back and steps forward. The barrier stretches, gelatin-like, and then envelops Newt.

He catches glimpse of himself in the barrier as Newt vanishes. His hair is longer, curling past his ears and just brushing his shoulders. His face has lost some of its malnourished sharpness. His eyes are the same, still dark, still alien, still the exact same color as his monstrous ears.

Credence wishes he could smash this barrier the way he’d smashed the mirrors in his new home. And yet..

And yet…

Credence takes the long path down the beach. The sound of the waves is ceaseless and eternal, just as his imprisonment is ceaseless and eternal. Credence doesn’t have the power to take down the barrier, and even if he did, escaping would mean losing Theseus forever. For a moment, he’d thought that magic would give him freedom, would give him community and family, but it hadn’t. It is, instead, a different kind of hutch.

He sits by the water and waits.

And waits.

The moon is full in the sky when he hears the shift of footsteps in the sand behind him. He doesn’t bother to look; he knows who they belong to.

“Hello, Credence.”

“Hello, Theseus.” His mouth moves on its own. Credence isn’t sure where finds the strength to reply.

“You know, there are peoples who say that there’s a rabbit in the moon,” Theseus says, just a hint of apology in his voice. A hand touches his shoulder.

“I don’t see it,” Credence says after a moments contemplation.

Theseus draws the shape in the air with his wand. It leaves a shimmering yellow outline in its wake; a rabbit curving along the top edge.

“One story says,” Theseus continues, “the rabbit earned his place in the sky with a virtuous deed. A poor man was starving, and, since he had nothing else to give, the rabbit offered his body to feed him. It turned out the man was a god, who put him in the sky to let everyone know of his amazing sacrifice.”

Credence is silent for another moment.

“But I’m not like that,” he says, very quietly, almost too soft to be heard.

“No,” says Theseus with a smile. “You’re not like that at all.” He cups Credence’s face, and leans in to kiss him. ----

The sheets are soft against his thighs.

It’s part of their usual pattern, Theseus kneeling on the floor, Credence sitting on the bed.

He likes it better this way. He can better admire the curve of Theo’s nose, the way his sandy lashes pressed against his cheeks. Credence shudders, caresses Theo’s lip with his thumb and watches as Theseus let it slip past, into his mouth.

He has to look away. It’s been months since they began this strange agreement but there is still that lingering shame.

Theo’s tongue curls around his thumb, and Credence realizes that his Theo’s hand is sliding between his thighs.

He flinches.

With a sigh, Theseus pulls away.

“You’re nervous,” he says.

“It’s… early. My heat won’t hit for another half hour.”

“But I’ve missed you,” Theo murmurs. He presses a kiss to his collarbone, to his sternum, to his heart.

“This isn’t just a job to me, you know?” Credence stares resolutely at the wall. “I like you, Credence. I like to take care of you. Not just because you can’t help yourself.” He pauses, and reaches out to gently turn Credence’s face towards him.

“Do you want to wait?” he asks.

Credence shakes his head.

“No, I… I like to do this too. I just… I can feel the cramps starting,” Credence says. A plume of smoke drifts up from his ankle bracelet. Theo glances down at the bracelet and then back up at him.

Credence almost misses the hint of fear in his voice as Theseus speaks.

“Why don’t you stand up for me?”

Credence hesitates, already anticipating how his body will react. But Theseus holds out a hand, and he stands on legs that are already beginning to tremble. One lone drop of slick trails down his inner thigh as Theseus turns him so that his hands are resting on the bed.

He can feel warm breath against his thighs.

“Relax, love,” Theseus murmurs. A fingertip traces around his rim, and Credence, tired at last of waiting, reaches back a hand and pulls Theseus flush against the curve of his ass.

Theseus obligingly parts his lips and then all Credence can think about is lips, and mouth, and tongue swirling and licking into him. And Theo moans, like he’s something delicious.

Good, Credence thinks. It’s only right. His knees are trembling, and the cramps are working their way into his abdomen, but at the very least, relief was at hand.

The chain around his ankle glows faintly. And Credence relaxes into the agony, leans into it, and lets the change overtake him. Hands and toes become claws, and soon Theseus is tugging and nuzzling against a tufted tail. He falls on to the bed, hands clenched into the sheets.

Strong, calloused hands spread him open. Credence can’t turn to look, to see if there are claws yet. He is fixated on a pad of thumb gently massaging him open further.

Theseus needn't have bothered. The fever has begun to take him, and he is already reduced to biting at the pillows. He won’t beg. He refuses to beg. With a gargantuan effort, he turns to look at Theseus.

It’s been too long. He thinks that maybe Theseus has lost weight as well. His cheekbones are sharp, his face pale, his lips parted, just barely.

Theseus falls into his arms.

“Merlin’s beard,” he breathes. “You smell so good.” Credence clutches at him, suddenly desperate for touch. Time slows.

Credence asks how he smells. Theseus whispers that he smells like new grass, and smoke, and earth. Like the beginning of time. Like what wizardkind was meant to be. Or once was. He whispers that he can feel a terrible flame inside of him, that kissing him is dangerous because he can feel magic surging through him everywhere they touch. A powerful, ancient energy. And Credence knows, somehow, that at this moment, more so than any other, he can control it.

The darkness, pours out of him, envelops them both, takes form. Tendrils of smoke bind Theo’s wrists, help Credence push him down until his back is flat against the bed while Credence looms over him. His body is barely a body, but it still aches. The bracelet burns, stiffles him.

 ** _“You’re scared_** ,” he whispers, and the voice is not his own. It's so rough, as though the flame within him has scarred his throat.

“No, Credence I’m--” But the smell of fear pours off of Theseus in waves. The pulse of his heart echoes in his ears like a thunder clap, like shockwaves. He sees in black and white, traces the jagged lines that form Theseus’s face.

“ ** _But you still want me_** ,” he growls. His claws are digging into the flesh of Theseus’s shoulders, but the tendrils of smoke stroke Theseus to hardness beneath him. Each one flickers for a moment in the white light of the charm. He can see himself reflected in Theseus’s wide eyes. A monster. A beast with glowing eyes.

The fear leeches into him like a poison. His form wavers, and a horrible scream forms in his throat. And then a hand reaches out to him, pets the side of his jaw.

“Yes,” Theseus breathes. “Yes. I want you Credence.” And Credence can’t help but bury his face in the curve of his throat. It's so safe, here in his arms, listening to the sound of the waves crashing, the smell of sea salt and blood enveloping him.

“ _ **I need you inside me**_ ,” he growls. The shape of his body shifts continuously, but the parts that Theseus touches stay still. Credence can hardly get to his knees fast enough. The blood pounds in his ears as he lines himself up with Theseus’s cock and sinks down upon him.

Smoke and crackles of white light pour from his open mouth; he sighs in relief.

It's so right.

The warmth sinks into his bones, slowly loosening and massaging the ball of agony in his belly.

“Yes,” he whispers, but it sounds more like a hiss. Credence lets himself move, tentatively at first. He keeps his focus on the soft, barely hidden moans, the feel of a frantic heartbeat, the tightening of fingers on his hips. He lets Theseus guide him with his reactions, feels the familiar melding of body, the slowly growing hardness inside himself.

Theseus is whimpering. Strange. Delightful. Tendrils have a mind of their own, and they seek that same warmth, greedily encircling thighs and chest and arms and neck and burrowing into every giving orifice. He shudders, watching as Theseus struggles to suck on a thick coil of smoke. With a burst of concentration, he withdraws, replaces it with his fingers.

His mind, far away, notes the relief in Theseus’s face. More manageable it seems.

Is he oozing? He wonders. There's a strange squelch as he moves, and dreamily he contemplates an entire body made of ooze. The tendrils grow slick, and he’s conscious of how now he's slid past thighs and under and past his balls and--

Credence sighs. It's a delight, a treat to be inside his Alpha. A terrible sin, an indulgence. Theseus sucks on his fingers, mouth stretched and reddened, and in rhythm, Credence moves his tendril inside of him. The vibrations reverberate through his form as Theseus moans as best he can around him.

“You’re so warm,” Credence whispers again, and this time it almost seems human. The voice in his throat is gentle, not quite his own but close.

He lets himself indulge further, fucks himself on Theseus’s cock until he can hardly move from how thick the knot is. He’s trembling with the effort of it, the desperation of it. Credence pulls his hand back so he can kiss him. It’s frantic and messy, and Theseus pets him reassuringly, a firm pressure on his neck. It’s pure biology. Or is it magic?

Credence cannot move. His whole body is wracked with anticipation, focused on taste and smell and touch. Each movement seems magnified as Theseus wraps slender fingers around Credence’s cock.

It aches.

He’d forgotten about this, the quick, small movements, the way Theseus thrusts in time with it, though he's already so full of him that it just inches him closer. A slow, agonizing burn that grows closer, sweet to the point of pain. He’s stretched taut in concentration, focused on those millimeters of space that Theseus has to move in, straining and shaking as those slender, soft fingers draw beads of precome from him, as the iron bar of his cock touches those parts of him that ache for tenderness.

If the tendrils petulantly rub over his prostate, it's only because this is the only power he’ll ever have over this man.

“Please,” he sobs. His claws dig so tight into flesh that they draw blood. “Please.”

And from the darkness comes a voice like gravel.

“Let me go.” It says. Credence’s mind is fuzzy. His vision is clouding over. “Let me go,” it says again.

In the far off distance he hears a shrill whistle, like a tea kettle.

His vision goes white. Credence shudders and whines and rocks against him, and Theseus holds him so tightly he can hardly breathe. In his ear Theseus groans his name, pained, and he feels those sharp teeth sink into his neck. Seed shoots up between their bodies, hot and sweet. Their bodies are crushed so close together that it's inevitable.

He can feel every pulse of Theseus’s cock inside him, every beat an echo of release.

In a flash, his body is his, is flesh, and he lays there in sticky saity.

After a few moments he realizes the whistle is from his ankle bracelet. Theseus pets his hair and the whistle trails off, then fades to silence.

“Well,” Theseus says. “That was one of the worse ones, wasn't it?” His tone is light, but Credence suspects that it’s falsely reassuring.

“Did… Did I hurt you?” Credence is almost afraid of the answer. The bright red scratches stand out on pale skin. He can't look away from them; he can’t bring himself to ask what he really wants to know.

“I’m fine.” Theseus murmurs this into his hair. “I’m actually… it wasn’t…”

Theseus drops his voice to a whisper, as though he’s afraid of being overheard.

“I rather enjoyed that part, actually. The roughness of it.”

Credence feels himself turning red, and by the hotness of his neck, Theseus is too. They’re locked together for now, and Credence appreciates the closeness of it. Otherwise he would have run away to sit alone in shame.

“Credence,” Theseus continues. “Is this life… That is, this isn't what you were meant to be, is it?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Credence says.

“I mean, I can't help you control this, can I? Take that Monitor off and--” He trails off.

Credence feels the hardness in him soften, and with a shift, Theseus’s cock slips out of him. But he doesn't want to be left alone again. He buries his face in Theseus’s chest.

“Am I such a burden? “ Credence asks.

“Oh God, no. Not at all. “ Theseus says, and squeezes Credence in a tight embrace. “No, it’s just that I’m hardly worthy of you. You need an Alpha with magic as strong as your own. Then maybe you could be… well just be. Live with us. Leave this place.”

“Is there anyone like that for me?” Credence asks, and then he laughs. There is, of course, but he can't have him.

“Do you mean Percy?” Theseus sighs. “Bloody Americans. Of course they’d foist it onto us.” He glances worriedly at Credence. “Oh no, I didn't mean--”

Credence laughs.

“I understand. Of course they wouldn't want to deal with me after that,” he says.

“The prison break, you know… They just didn't have the facilities.”

“Or the patience to deal with me,” Credence whispers. Theseus absently presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You’re not unhappy here, are you though?” Theseus asks. Credence smiles, runs his fingers over Theseus’s chest.

“It reminds me of home,” Credence says.

He lets the implication hang in the air between them.

Theseus is silent for a while.

“I’m sorry,” he says at last.

\--------------------

Theseus is gone by morning.


End file.
